


Growth

by owlishdelight



Category: Naruto
Genre: Day 1 - Growth, Temari Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:42:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlishdelight/pseuds/owlishdelight
Summary: Home isn't where you live, it's who you're with.





	Growth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Temari Week 2018. Day 1 - Growth

The sound of water wakes her up. Temari still isn’t used to Konoha’s frequent storms. She still isn’t used to a lot of things about this new chapter in her life, including the weight of the arm wrapped around her waist. She carefully lifts it in order to slip out of bed without waking her husband. She isn’t used to that either, a blush still rising in her cheeks when she thought of him in conjunction with that label. It still doesn’t feel real, living in the same home as him, her heart still skipping a beat whenever she turned a corner and found him just there, so within her reach after spending so long miles apart. She wonders sometimes if it would ever stop doing that, if she would ever get used to it, and secretly wishes that it never does. She leaves Shikamaru asleep in their bed, amused by the wildness of his loosed dark hair, longer now than it has ever been in the time she’s known him. It fans over the pillows and his face, convincing her to pause and gently brush the strands back off of his forehead. Her fingertips linger against his skin, trying to silently convey the immense emotion swelling in her chest before she leaves the room.  


She heads outside, sliding the screen to the back veranda open and closed without a sound, the air already dense and humid despite the rainfall. She can already feel her hair expanding, a grimace darkening her face for a moment. The effect of Konoha’s climate on her hair is the one thing she could have done without. The rain, however, is worth it. It fell with a steady roar on the roof overhead, swallowing all other sounds of dawn. The sky is still dark to the west, the clouds hanging heavy. A flash of lightning forks across, followed after a few beats by a low boom of thunder that she felt rattle in her bones. But there is a hint of sunlight to the east, the first rays of day peeking over the horizon, all the accompanying pinks and violets bleeding their way into the inky blues and blacks of the stormy night. The colours of dawn are different here than the ones she had grown up with in Suna. They are softer, more blended, the warm hues contrasting subtly with the cool greens of the resident plant life. The abundance of growth in Konoha is most definitely the biggest thing she has yet to get used to, and honestly, she doesn’t think she ever will. There is so much of it everywhere she goes, the grass, the trees, the wildflowers, and the bushes. Once, she tried counting how many different plants she passed just going to the market. She had lost count before getting halfway there.  


Growing up and living in the desert, she had only known the seemingly endless sands, occasionally populated by an outcropping of cacti. It had been beautiful in its own way, beautiful in the clearness of the sky and the dryness of the heat. There was a stubbornness to the life that scraped together an existence in Suna, a low growling tenacity that imparted itself to the people that settled there. But Konoha was completely different, wet and muddy and effortless. The seeds sown in its soil didn’t have to scrape and fight through the rock and sand and flower under the scorching sun. To an outsider who had scraped and fought and flowered in spite of all those odds, it seemed like a soft existence, an easy living. Temari remembers thinking of the Hidden Leaf as soft, as vulnerable, as easy to break apart as the cherry blossoms that bloomed in the spring. She remembers her unfair comparisons, deeming one better than the other, dismissing one’s unique struggles as lesser than the other’s. It was only after the war that she had found a true respect for the shinobi cultivated here, that she stopped comparing and saw the beauty in both the cactus and the cherry blossom. Both grew through their own hardships, the cactus through the drought and heat, the blossom through the competition and disease.  


She stretches out her hand into the curtain of water that cascades over the roof’s edge. It is cool, sending a shiver up her spine and raising gooseflesh on her arms despite the warmth of the air. She finds it hard at times to reconcile the difference in who she was and who she had become. Being of the sand and the oldest of three children had made her intensely independent, relying only on herself to get things done. Independence was praised in Suna, especially under her father’s leadership, as a mark of strength and success. The opposite seemed to be true in Konoha. Everyone here thrived as a network, a great forest of trees weaving roots and sharing resources. Independence in Leaf shinobi was respected but, more often than not, not applauded. Teammates weren’t just teammates, they were family. That fact evident especially with the clan she had married into. Shikamaru had joked early on that she wasn’t joining just one clan but three, and he had been right.  


This role she has to grow into, that of wife, one day mother, is something wholly new to her. Her wedding band glints brightly in the strengthening light of the rising sun, drops clinging to it when she turns her hand to cup the rain. Temari brings the water back to her beneath the wooden beams, pouring it over her head, a private baptism. She can’t help but smile and cards her wet fingers through her blonde hair. The clouds are beginning to clear, the sun stronger in their absence as it climbs its way up from below the horizon. She stands there and watches, arms curled around herself, rainfall still dripping down the nap of her neck. The birds have begun their songs, finally able to be heard as the rain slowed and became more of a patter. More shades of colour emerge than she could ever count, but she isn’t trying. She simply exists in this new place, this new home, breathing in the heady scents of green grass and wet soil.  


She isn’t sure how long it is that she stands there in that timeless space carved out between night and day. She doesn’t jump when arms encircle her waist and a familiar weight settles itself on her shoulder. Shikamaru doesn’t break the silence, and she’s thankful for that. He exists with her, long fingers trailing lazily up and down the stomach of her cotton robe. The motion is steady and soothing, almost lulling her back to sleep as she leans comfortably back into his bare chest. His cheek rests against hers, still sleep warm and scratchy with stubble. She raises a hand to cradle against his head, isn’t surprised when her palm is met with a kiss. Their affections are almost always like this, silent and physical.  


When she does speak, her voice is quiet but clear. “I don’t know if I will ever get used to it.” He doesn’t have to ask what she means or what she’s talking about. He feels a similar concern, this unfamiliarity of building a life with another person. Yet he also knows that his does not also come with a complete upheaval from his homeland, from his family. He can only imagine how it feels to start this new life in an entirely different territory, climate, and culture. They had discussed the possibility of living in Suna, but only briefly. Shikamaru thought it wise to weigh all of their options, but Temari had nixed the idea before it had even fully left his mouth. He had his work in Konoha, and she refused to raise their children in Suna. End of discussion. She had committed herself fully to the move, knew what it meant politically for their nations, and hugged her brothers farewell with little show of emotion. He had asked once if she felt sad about leaving her home. He remembers her answer now as the morning sun washes over their bare feet, and hugs her a little tighter, their fingers intertwining where they rested in her stomach.  


“I didn’t leave my home,” she’d said, washing the dinner dishes with a quiet efficiency. “It simply shifted in definition. Home isn’t where you live, it’s who you’re with. I decided home was you long before you asked me to marry you, Shikamaru. So this is…more like coming home after a long mission in another land.” She’d turned and smiled at him then, that brilliant smile that lit up her whole face and that made his heart stop beating every time he saw it.  


“Maybe not. But I hope it can still feel like home.” He can’t see her face and her response is silence for a long moment. He waits patiently, wondering if she’s thinking of that conversation, too. He feels her turn before it happens, finds her green eyes on him, a calculation in their cool depths.  


“I guess we’ll see.” Her tone is teasing, her worries assuaged for the moment, and he can taste that smile on her lips as they press against his own.


End file.
